


farewell

by WildKitte



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Break Up, Companion Piece, Healing, M/M, Mental Health Issues, eating disorder mention, i dont do fucked up, it's not that "fucked up" tho, this was originally titled "that fucked up bokuaka"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 14:03:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5787991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WildKitte/pseuds/WildKitte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Akaashi pushes him back and inhales a deep breath like he's drowning and grabs his luggage.</i>
</p><p> <i>”Farewell, Bokuto-san,” he says, voice hollow and turns, embarks the train without looking behind.</i></p><p> <br/>How it all ends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	farewell

**Author's Note:**

> This is not my fault and [Takei](http://takei-draws.tumblr.com/) and [Meru](http://merurunee.tumblr.com/) are enablers (also really precious and talented, check them out).  
> This is a companion piece to their art, which you can find [here](http://takei-draws.tumblr.com/post/137884628166/merurunee-akaashi-pushes-him-back-and)

 

 

 

Now that Bokuto thinks about it, he never got an explanation.

It aches so deep in his bones he finds it kind of funny that he just took it, like that. Akaashi's words always meant everything for him.

It's only suitable they would tear him down like this, too.

 

 

_Farewell, Bokuto-san._

 

 

Suitable, indeed.

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

The days go by without any significance, the nights... the nights are hard. The nights are hard because he wakes up to dreams of Akaashi, dreams of his skin, his scent, his voice; and he wakes up in an empty bed, on the right side next to a cold spot that used to be so warm.

 

 

Every waking moment is filled with white noise.

Bokuto thinks it's only appropriate.

 

 

Days turn into actions, verbs and imperatives: wake up, shower, dress up, eat, drink, go to work, come back, take shoes off, eat, drink, sleep.

He repeats the words to himself – he feels like if he doesn't remind himself he will forget to eat, to breathe, to function like a human being.

Not like he feels like one.

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

” _This has to end. I have to go.”_

 

” _Akaashi?”_

 

 

_The apartment is warm, the food is in the oven; Bokuto stands in the kitchen, hands limp at his sides as Akaashi looks back at him with cold eyes, unreadable, incomprehensible._

” _I have packed my things – the rest I have thrown out. I didn't take anything that's yours.”_

_A hot splash on his face. Something like embarrassment, something like fear but nothing remotely as simple as that._

” _Akaashi, what are you talking about?” Bokuto tries to laugh even though he really doesn't feel like laughing, he doesn't feel like... he doesn't... feel..._

 

 

” _I am leaving, Bokuto-san. I will not come back. This is the end.”_

 

 

_Bokuto blinks slowly and swallows._

_It can't be. He's joking, right? Just suddenly, after all these years? They're in love, right? They're supposed to be okay, right?_

_Wasn't he supposed to propose?_

 

 

” _Keiji,” he chokes out and Akaashi flinches like burned._

 

 

” _This is_ over _, Bokuto-san.”_

_And without a word he leaves, the slam of the door echoing in the silent apartment._

 

 

_It takes Bokuto everything he has to just breathe, first. His feet move as if by themselves and he finds himself running after his lover._

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

” _Akaashi! Akaashi, wait! Where are you going?” he yells, his feet slipping in the snow and he almost trips._

 

” _Train station,” comes the answer. Emotionless, cold, voice harsh. Bokuto takes two more steps and then stops, heaving and leaning on his knees._

 

” _Let me drive you.”_

 

_Akaashi flinches again and Bokuto desperately wants to ask – why is this happening, is Akaashi serious, why does it feel like this - but he can't form the right words, the right thoughts through the hazy dream this feels like._

 

” _I will not change my mind, Bokuto-san.”_

 

 _Bokuto scrunches his eyes close and breathes in a sharp breath._ You used to call me Koutarou.

 

” _I know, but please,” he begs. ”Please let me take you there.”_

 

 

_(perhaps this is some kind of awful mistake because Akaashi just can't be serious this is not happening this is a dream he will wake up any minute now this is not happening)_

 

 

_Akaashi turns slowly, hurt clear in his eyes before he recovers his mask of indifference._

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

_They drive in silence._

 

” _Why?”_

 

_No answer._

 

” _Was it something I did? Did I do something wrong? Akaashi? Keiji--”_

 

” _Don't,” comes the sharp command._

 

” _Akaashi. Please. Tell me why.”_

 

_They pretend not to hear the hurt in his voice._

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

Some days Kuroo checks on him, comes through the front door with a key Bokuto doesn't remember having given to him. Other days he brings Kenma too, usually not – Kenma is uneasy with tears and the blinding white agony Bokuto succumbs to. But Kuroo is there, holds him when his body gives out under him, drags him to bed and cleans up the mess, the broken shards and whatever is left of Bokuto after a bad day.

 

On some days Kuroo puts a film on and sits Bokuto on the sofa and slumps next to him. He tells bad jokes and comments on the movie and sometimes Bokuto smiles back.

Those smiles are the reason Kuroo keeps coming back and doesn't, won't, lose hope.

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

Wake up. Shower. Eat. Sleep.

 

Wake up.

 

Shower.

 

Eat.

 

Sleep.

 

Please repeat.

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

_Akaashi looks at him as he arrives and welcomes him with a warm smile, like March sunlight filtering through the trees in their backyard._

 

”Tadaima _,” Bokuto says and kicks his shoes off and then fixes them properly. Sliding his slippers on, he hears Akaashi walk up to him from the sofa and as he straightens up to look Akaashi in the eyes, the other man is already wrapping his arms around Bokuto's neck and laughs against his lips. He's home._

 

”Okaeri _,” Akaashi answers and pecks his lips and lets out a squeal as Bokuto attacks his neck and cheeks with kisses._

_Welcome home._

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

Sometimes Bokuto wonders if then it was already over, if he just warmed the place in Akaashi's heart for someone else who was meant to be.

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

_The station is empty and the sky is clear, clearer than Bokuto has ever seen the Tokyo night and he would find it ironic, if he didn't feel like ripping his heart from his chest. It is a feeling quite unfamiliar to him (but he feels like he's going to get used to it)._

 

_Akaashi sets his luggage down, looking forward with set eyes and Bokuto's hands ache to entwine their fingers together, like usual. How they'd fit together so perfectly, like before._

 

” _Right,” Akaashi says suddenly and turns to face Bokuto. He digs something from his pocket and then offers his open palm at Bokuto._

 

 

_The key to their apartment. Bokuto's heart sinks._

 

 

” _Akaashi, please,” he chokes out and brings his hand to his mouth to muffle the sob escaping from his lips, scrunching his eyes shut (stop the tears, don't cry). ”Akaashi, please, you don't have to... You don't have to tell me why, you don't have to do anything but just – don't leave me, I beg, Keiji--”_

_Akaashi closes his eyes and his hands are trembling as he draws his hand back, with the key, in his pocket._

 

 

” _Bokuto-san...”_

 

” _Whatever it is,” Bokuto cries out and people are starting to stare at them._

 

” _Bokuto-san, I can't, I-- , don't cause a scene,” Akaashi scolds him sternly but doesn't meet his gaze. The luggage next to him stays on the ground, he doesn't pick it up even as the train arrives._

 

” _Whatever it is that I did, whatever made you not love me anymore,” Bokuto's voice breaks when he utters out the word 'love', ”I will fix it, please, Keiji, I can't-- Keiji.”_

 

 

_Akaashi's name comes out as a plea, as a silent, broken prayer on Bokuto's lips and it seems like for a second Akaashi's resolve snaps like a tendon and crumbles down. He takes two steps, closing the distance between them and slides his fingers in Bokuto's hair, hands trembling._

 

 

” _Fuck, Koutarou,” he whispers against Bokuto's lips and crashes their mouths together to a searing and painful kiss. Bokuto's hands fly in to grasp the lapels of his jacket and he fuses their lips together; if he lets go, Akaashi will leave him, he can't afford to let go. The station around them blurs into white nothingness and he just holds on, he can't, he can't let go, not now –_

 

 

_Akaashi pushes him back and inhales a deep breath like he's drowning and grabs his luggage._

 

” _Farewell, Bokuto-san,” he says, voice hollow and turns, embarks the train without looking behind._

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

_When Bokuto comes home, he closes the door carefully, silently, and hears the lock click into place. He turns to the hallway, smells the scent of the abandoned food on the table, the candles haven't fortunately caused a fire and as he thinks of the square box waiting in his nightstand drawer he slides down the door to the ground._

 

 

_He doesn't hold back the scream and the tears streaming down his face are hot and burning._

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

_He wakes up on the cold floor._

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

He vaguely remembers calling Kuroo at some point and crying on the phone – then someone barging in to the apartment, hunching over him and burying his tired body in their arms.

He has memories of darkness and his hoarse voice calling after Akaashi, day after day after night after night.

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

Bokuto wonders if he's starting to be okay, when the pain becomes duller, less sharp and absolutely lethal. He remembers things like the shirt he's wearing was a gift from Akaashi and it doesn't quite feel like drowning anymore.

 

 

 

The shirt, for the first time after Akaashi left, fits his weary body again.

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

” _Bokuto-san. Bokuto-san, please focus.”_

 

_Bokuto shivers and slowly opens his eyes. His sight is blurred and slowly it focuses on Akaashi standing above him._

 

” _Akaashi?”_

 

” _You just passed out. Do you know where you are?”  
_

” _I am at the... gym. Volleyball?”_

 

” _He's okay, Akaashi,” comes Kuroo's voice from somewhere. ”If he's asking after damn volleyball, he's fine.” Then a breathless cough, probably due to Kenma elbowing him in the stomach._

 

” _Please take care of yourself, Bokuto-san,” Akaashi scolds him and oh – wow okay that is Akaashi stroking his cheek. ”We can't afford to lose our ace.”_

 

” _Our what?”_

 

” _Shut up Kuroo.”_

 

 

” _Oh man, I think I'm in love with you,” Bokuto mumbles out and Akaashi blushes delightfully red._

_And yes, that is Kuroo laughing._

 

 

 

 

_*_

 

 

 

 

It takes time to heal, but somehow Bokuto makes it there. He starts cooking again and goes to the gym. For the first few months he's under Kuroo's sharp observation not to harm himself in any way (he likes to think it's just Kuroo being over-protective. It's only half-true). He adds spice in his cooking, so much that Kenma cries in his food.

 

 

He buys a smaller bed.

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

He considers getting a new apartment and going somewhere far away, perhaps even leaving the country. There's not much holding him back, if you don't count a couple of irreplaceable friends, but he decides to stay in the house. He denies it's hope. It's not. It's called being practical ( _functional_ ).

 

 

So he pours all this energy into studying. He attends courses again and finally calls his mother who cries on the phone (and he pretends not to understand why, pretends that the thing with the hospital never happened because you just forget to eat sometimes and Kuroo realised in time anyway).

His professors are understanding. Bokuto doesn't know how to feel about that.

 

 

In the end, what matters is that simply existing doesn't kill him anymore. Maybe that's progress.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

He doesn't go to the train station again. Three months go by and he always takes the bus.

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

The doorbell rings and he glances up from his meal, a book propped up in front of him. He checks his phone, no messages from Kuroo. Baffled, he walks to the door and as the doorbell rings again, he swings the door open.

 

 

The world tilts and stops.

 

 

”Bokuto-san.”

 

 

No.

 

 

 

” _...Koutarou._ ”

 

 

 

 

\- fin -

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a kudos and a comment if you liked and come yell at me on twitter @[wildkitte](https://twitter.com/wildkitte)


End file.
